


Grimhold

by Sylvanius



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Romance Plus Plot, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:09:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24157153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylvanius/pseuds/Sylvanius
Summary: Numair reunites with Daine in the Grimhold Mountains where a village is in need of assistance to fight back the dangers of the windswept north. In their effort to offer aid they'll find out if they're the heroes they've been made out to be, and be forced to confront fears that have built year by year. Post-RotG AU where they have not become romantically involved.
Relationships: Numair Salmalín/Veralidaine Sarrasri
Comments: 30
Kudos: 49





	1. Reunion

Spots shook his head and sent snowflakes fluttering from his mane as they mounted the crest.

“I know; me too,” Numair murmured as he patted his mount with a gentle hand. It had been many years since he’d traveled so far north and he hadn’t remembered the journey being so long. With their goal in sight, Spots broke into a trot and Numair let him. Since Daine’s influence became a factor, it was more often than not beneficial to follow his horse's lead than the other way around. 

They moved through the field easily enough. The worst of the winter freeze had passed, and tufts of windswept grass could be seen peeking from between the snow drifts. Despite the first signs of spring the wind moved through the land and carried the remnants of winter with it. The only saving grace was that the numbness in his body helped ease the pain of so much time spent in the saddle. He should have stopped at the City of the Gods, as was offered, to allow himself a break but his eagerness had gotten the best of him. 

They came to a halt outside the walls and a guard yelled out an order. The gates opened, straining against the frost that sought to keep them barred and shedding snow as they swung apart. He hadn’t expected a town so small to be so fortified. 

Numair nodded to a watchman as he entered. The youth greeted him and ran to secure the gate behind him. He dismounted and resisted the urge to stretch out his limbs in a thoroughly unbecoming fashion. Trevdale was small; the interior little more than an expanse of dirt and a smattering of buildings—most small, some not. Every few doorsteps pots steamed over open fires, the smoke moving in ripples with the wind. At a glance there seemed to be more chickens roaming than people, but he supposed he would also be inside if he had his way. 

He turned to find a figure leaning against the interior wall, inspecting him. He broke out into a smile. 

“Daine,” her name fell from his lips like a breath of fresh air. 

She pushed herself off the wall, grinning as she closed the distance between them. He pulled her into a quick hug. It did little to reflect how he felt to see her again but they were as public as could be and in such a small town there was little else to talk about but newcomers. 

“How was your journey?” She looked up at him with the obvious gaze of someone checking another for injury and fatigue. Her own cheeks were flushed, and curls windswept where they stuck out from her thick wool coat. “Scanran design,” she looked down at her attire when she noticed his gaze and ran a finger over the embroidery running the length of the buttons. “It’s warm; sometimes too much so.” 

“I might need one,” he shivered for emphasis and pulled his own cloak tighter around him. 

“Let’s settle Spots and then we’ll get you warmed and fed.” She turned to the gelding, tilting her head as she listened to what he was sure were complaints about him. “I’m sorry; that was fair rude not to greet you first.” She leaned her head against his mane, stroking his neck. “ Let’s go see Cloud.” 

She patted Spots and he fell into step behind them as she took the lead. 

“How are things here?” He asked, quietly. They’d have time to talk in detail later but he was anxious for the lay of the land. 

“Better,” she shrugged, “but tenuous. We were right about the Ogres. They were just looking for land to settle and the townspeople panicked.” 

“Nothing new there.”

“No,” she scowled, “and it will keep happening unless we can think bigger about how we bridge the gap between them and the humans. Traveling to every town that spots one just isn’t reasonable. Not when all they need to do is talk to each other.”

“Something to talk to Jon about.” 

“Yes. Although I can’t fully blame them for being on edge. This close to the Scanran border and the mountains—they’ve had more than their fair share of bandit problems,” she gestured towards the walls surrounding them and he could hear the venom in her voice at the mention of bandits. 

“I was surprised to find it so fortified.” He nodded, taking in his surroundings. The homes were modest, but sturdily built. Here and there strips of colored fabric were strung from doorways and shutters; they fluttered in the wind and the flashes of color provided a reprieve from the expanse of grey and brown. 

“They had to. They’re more a trading post that’s grown than a proper village. If they can’t protect the caravans they can’t protect their livelihood.” 

“That would explain why anyone would live up here,” he grumbled as they turned a corner and were met by a blast of cold air. “Being on the flats must give them time to prepare for an attack.” 

“A little, but even if they know it’s coming there aren’t so many here that can defend it.” 

“Merchants.” 

“Yes; some good with the land too, but less so with a weapon. Archers more than anything. Helene—she’s their head woman of sorts, since her husband died anyway—said that the young and able leave more often than not. Do you remember Renley with the 9th Rider’s Group? This is his hometown.”

“That boy who tried to give Onua tips on tackle before he knew who she was?”

She laughed, “one and the same. Turned out to be a fine Rider though. Once he learned a little humility.”

“I think Sarge instilled a bit more than _a little_ in him.” He smirked at the memory and sighed, turning back to the matter at hand. “So what are the imminent threats? Siege?”

She nodded. “Grimhold Mountains in all directions. Plenty of places for the enemy to hide and they won’t even know they’re surrounded until it’s too late.”

“Do caravans stay long?”

“A day or two, usually. But if weather turns—”

“Lots of goods stranded for the taking.”

“Exactly.” 

“What else?”

“Fire.” She put her hands in her pockets, looking around them and he followed her lead. It was well-built—but flammable through and through. 

“Starve them out; burn them out.”

“Yes.” 

“The fire, at least, I can help with. It will take at least a week for so much but it should be doable.” He studied the structure, trying to create a mental map of the area. “Maybe two if I don’t want to strain myself.” 

“I’d prefer you didn’t.” 

“As for siege,” he trailed off. Even with so much power between them there was only so much they could do. Only so much they could save. It was a lesson he wished he didn’t have to keep learning. “Is trade their only source of food?” 

“Nearly. There’s some farmland just outside the North walls. They’re working to close them in.” She directed him to turn to their right, around a large multi-story building with a thatched roof. “Helene puts aside what she can, but it wouldn’t hold long. Plenty of fresh water though.”

“That’s something.” They paused as a group of wool-bundled children ran across their path. They watched them go, Spots shifting from hoof-to-hoof behind them. The gelding nudged Daine’s shoulder and she reached back to feed him an apple she had pulled from her pocket. “The Ogres?” 

She nodded, knowing his question without the need for him to elaborate. “Willing to help protect the land if they can settle it. They’ll trade food for goods as well.”

“That will be helpful. For all of them.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, and she motioned for him to follow as she moved again. “An alliance with the Ogres, fire protection, and we can ask Myles for defensive supplies to be requisitioned—this is under Trebond’s jurisdiction, correct?”

She shook her head, “no. I thought so too based on the maps. Helene said it’s Grennich, but besides the bannerman who collects their tithes there’s little contact.” 

“I’m not familiar with that house. Best to make our recommendation to Jon and let him delegate. I’m not sure if we can do more than this, but it should help,” he hesitated, “with the bandits, at least.” He met her gaze and noticed the small shake of her head. There was more to discuss, but only when they could avoid being overheard. 

They had walked halfway around the building when they passed a door. He felt the hint of warmth and the smell of something delicious hanging thick in the air. His stomach grumbled and he realized just how hungry he was. The savory scent was quickly replaced with one just as familiar—horse dung.

Cloud shoved her head over the door of her stall and nipped at his sleeve. He laughed, recognizing her particular brand of affection. 

“I’ve missed you too,” he patted her neck but watched her carefully for warning signs of more affection. He was soon forgotten, however, as Spots pushed him aside and the two mounts began what appeared to be a very animated discussion. He pulled his packs and saddle from Spots, dropping his supplies into a pile near the stall door. Gripping the saddle, he moved around his mount to find Daine and ask where it should be stored. He’d walked around a stall, daylight giving way to shadows beneath the overhang, when he was struck by a force and dropped his belongings to the ground at the impact. 

Daine held him, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. He lifted her from the ground and held her just as tightly, returning the embrace in full and more. They held one another for a long moment to drag out the feeling of how they fit into one another, and the smell of her curls where her head tucked under his, and how their chests rose and fell in time against each other. Somewhere far off a dog barked and they pulled away, but only enough for her to look up at him. 

For a moment they weren’t huddled together with the north wind creeping into their bones, but embraced among the fall-scattered leaves. The smell of snow was replaced by that of the dying of a season. They weren’t reuniting, but parting. But, like back then, he could feel the way her back arched as he held her and her warm breath against his lips. And, like back then, the moment felt as though it were suspended in time until it wasn’t and they were pulling away. 

She knelt down to collect a brush that she had gone to fetch. He collected the saddle, clearing his throat.

“Trade?” She spoke before he could, the ghost of a blush on her cheeks. He nodded, taking the brush and she moved away to store his tack. He coaxed Spots into the stall neighboring Cloud’s and began to brush down his coat. Daine joined shortly after and they made short work of the task in silence. When they finished Daine split another apple in half, and gave half to Cloud and Spots each. She turned to Numair, motioning towards the building. He picked up his packs—getting all but one before she could grab them—and followed her.

“I won’t lie; I’m looking forward to getting to my room.” He laughed, “you know how I hate sleeping in the cold.” 

“About that,” she hesitated at the door before pushing it open. Warmth from inside washed over him, along with the tempting scents from earlier, and with it the clamoring of a bustling inn. She ushered him inside and shut the door behind them as she came to stand next to him. 

“A caravan arrived earlier today,” she bit her lip. “A large one.” He turned to look at her, eyebrows raised, and she grimaced. “They’re out of rooms. I’m sorry; I should have thought to ask for one to be held but it had been so empty,” she sighed. 

He tried to keep his annoyance from his voice. “I suppose it can’t be helped. I have my gear, at least.” 

“Odd’s Bobs, you’re not sleeping outside.” For someone who spent half her life sleeping in the woods she seemed oddly scandalized at the thought. “It’s freezing.” 

“You said there are no rooms.”

“There’s mine,” she shrugged but looked away. She must have known he’d take issue with such an arrangement. 

“Daine,” he dropped his voice, “that’s really not appropriate. You know what people will think.” He felt himself flush at the thought—an accusation that was once laughable to him. 

“I do,” she shrugged. “But I care less about that than I do the thought of you sleeping out in the cold. Besides, things are a little more,” she paused, searching for the term, “ _forgiving_ here. They see all sorts come through.” She nudged him, slinging his bag higher on her shoulder, and moved away. He balked at the thought of being seen heading to her rooms by so many, but followed anyway. The battle between protecting her and wanting to be near her was one he felt himself losing ground in as time pushed on. 

He passed the blazing fire and felt true warmth embrace him for the first time in weeks. Fatigue settled in quickly as his body seemed to realize that one part of his journey was at an end. Numair followed her up a narrow staircase as he debated with himself what was most important: eating, sleeping, bathing, or arguing with her about their sleeping arrangements. 

He dropped his gaze as he passed a maid in the hall. He didn’t want to think about what she must think, or what she would gossip to others. Daine seemed unconcerned. They reached the end of the hall where she unlocked the door and gestured for him to enter first.

It was cozy, but larger than many they had stayed in. Room enough for a double bed, dresser, desk and a chair. The far side of the room was concealed by a dressing screen, and a settee rested in front of a dormant fireplace on the right-hand wall. He placed his bags on the floor at the edge of the room and heard the door click shut behind them. He put his hands in his pockets and pretended to be engrossed in studying his surroundings, not sure what to say to her when he turned back. 

“You’ll want to bathe, I’m sure.” She placed the pack she carried with his others and moved to sit on the bed as she loosened the buttons of her coat. 

He hesitated, not wanting to kick her out but preferring to retain some semblance of boundaries between them. She followed his gaze which rested on the privacy screen and laughed. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I should have been more clear. There’s a public bathhouse here; they built it around the hot springs. It’s quite nice actually. They would probably bring up a basin if we asked, but it may take a while,” she trailed off. 

“Public is fine,” he ran a hand through his hair. In truth, he would prefer not to have to deal with people at that exact moment but his desire to rinse the sweat and muck he was covered in eclipsed that particular preference. She stood, shooting him a knowing look. 

“Or we could go to the private ones.” 

“If I have the option I’d rather bathe privately,” he shrugged. “Is it an extra fee?” He crouched to pull his purse from his pack. 

“Oh, no. The springs are natural. You just have to know where to look.” She moved to the window and opened a shutter. Cold air swept through the room as he turned to look up at her with a raised eyebrow. 

“This sounds like more wilderness bathing.” 

She laughed. “I suppose, yes. But far nicer than you’re used to. Trust me.” 

“How far?” He listened to the whistling of the wind. He could think of few things he would enjoy less at that moment than a hike across the lowlands in this weather. 

“A few minutes. If we fly,” she turned and winked at him. 

“I’m assuming there are multiple springs? Nicely separated and far apart?” He asked, only to have his suspicions confirmed when she looked away. He had spent the winter wondering what had possessed him to push against so many boundaries all those months ago, but now another thought occurred to him—had she been testing limits just as much? More? 

“They’re quite large.” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, pitting rationality against desire. “Let’s fly out. I’d like to get the lay of the land; you can show me where they are and I’ll return after you’re done.” 

“Reasonable as always,” she teased. There was just a touch of wistfulness in her voice. So slight that once it was gone it was hard to know if it was there to begin with. He turned the thought over in his mind, trying to identify what it was he was even trying to hold on to and then she was gone. A rufous-colored harrier sat on the windowsill, cocking her head at him. 

He smiled, “you know I get nervous when you watch.” She fluttered a wing—communicating something he was sure was meant to be rude—and took flight. Taking a deep breath and centering himself, he pulled the currents of black fire that rippled through his skin into a new shape. A shape made for flight, and freedom. For the chase. 

It had been a long time since he had taken hawk-form and he made a mental note to change regularly, even if it was just for sport. He would ache from the effort after, but found the form regardless. He hopped to the window sill, finding his balance with some ungainly flapping of his wings. His eyes focused on the harrier far above and he steeled himself as he took flight. His stomach dropped despite his steady-ascent, an automatic sensation he had never been able to shake along with his human form. Soon enough flight would feel natural to him—freeing—but that first leap was always a challenge. He had never mentioned it to her, worried she would tease him. 

He ascended quickly, letting himself move from side to side with the wind instead of fighting against it. She circled above, waiting for him to join her. When he did, she let out a shriek, pleased, and soared close enough to brush his wing with her own. It was a throwback to a game they played, sometimes, in the brief, quiet times when they could let other things fall away. Hazy late-summer days rising from golden fields, or rolling oceans scattered with post-storm sunlight. Moments they could steal, or borrow. Rising and falling on the wind to chase one another in dizzying circles and risk everything for a chance to be close to the other. Defeat only meant another round; another chance to chase or be caught. 

He rallied, falling into the familiar pattern like a second skin. She was better than him. She knew how to ride the current in a way that he didn’t. So well that at times that she led him even as she evaded him, beckoning him into safer pockets of air. Protecting him even as she challenged him. They careened through the air far above the lowlands, moving towards the mountains in an indirect but purposeful path. She was better, but he had tricks and the pursuer changed twice more before she began her descent at the edge of the forest that climbed the mountain range. 

She neared the ground, drawing back and extending her wings when a gust swept upward at the last moment before perching on a rock. She cocked her head, watching him, as steam rose around her from the terraced pools nestled among the rocky outcropping. He circled above, memorizing their position and shrieked as he flew off to allow her privacy. He turned too fast and a gust forced him to veer back to take another turn while he steadied himself. He rose higher to clear the treeline, but not before registering her naked form as she stepped into the pool. He thought he had seen her look up at him, knee deep in the water with steam rising up in tendrils to cradle her body. He pushed the thought away and focused on his survey of the landscape below. 

He crisscrossed the valley in a way that would do nothing to disguise him as one of the people but was effective in memorizing the land. He could see what Daine had been talking about. The position was certainly advantageous as a trading-post. Any travelers coming off the Great Road North and heading to Scanra would have to come through the town. With one mountain pass behind them and another ahead he was sure any with coin to spare would gladly spend it on whatever comforts could be offered. 

From a defensive perspective it was nothing but trouble. Vulnerable, undermanned, and far away from support. If things went as they feared there was little aid that could be offered. To the North he could see mounds of grass he knew to be Ogre huts. He had seen them built that way when he and Daine had visited Hamrkeng years earlier. They were ingenious in that they could be made with materials readily available, and worked with the environment to provide stability. The soft sloping shapes allowed wind to pass over them easily and the root systems of the grass that grew over them held the earth steady over the internal structure during even the worst of storms. From his vantage point he could see where areas had been cleared for more huts and farmland. Several Ogres were transporting felled trees across the camp. He would be interested to see the fruits of their labor should he ever return. 

He circled around and flew back towards town. A charm to protect against fire was simple enough in itself, but to create one that would protect the entire post would be complex. It was doable, to be sure, but would require planning. He circled the walls several times, taking note of where the spells should be anchored and where he could connect them to create as much coverage as possible. It was after his second turn, he noted with some amusement, that a man dressed in furs with a hunting dog at his side stood from his seat on the wall to watch him intently. He supposed he could have tried harder to blend in. 

Satisfied that he had an inkling of a plan, he turned back towards the springs. He sensed copper fire approaching him faster than he was moving, and his sense was confirmed as a harrier flew past him with a brush of her wings against his. He was tempted to give chase again but the lure of a warm bath beckoned him. 

He landed gracelessly, wincing as he resumed his human form. Whether the aches in his legs were from his journey or his transformation he couldn’t be sure. He shivered against the frigid air and hurried to enter the pool. The water was almost unbearably hot after the cold air, but he adjusted quickly enough and submerged bit by bit as he did. 

He groaned as the water reached his shoulders and chipped away at the aches he had begun to worry would become permanent. He stayed there for a long moment, basking in feeling before dipping his head back to wet his hair. Warm water trickled down his back as he rose back up and ran his fingers over his hair. Something on the far short caught his eye. He moved across the spring, keeping low so as to stay below the water. A small bundle lay untied and in it he found soap and a pumice stone. He grinned at her thoughtfulness. While warmth and privacy were his priorities, he was pleased to have the opportunity to smell more of soap than sulfur. 

He took his time and let the heat ease the aches from his body, taking care in scrubbing off weeks of grime that cold mountain bathing had not left him motivated to eliminate. It was only when he looked up from where he leaned against a rocky outcropping to see the sun dipping low in the sky did he draw himself from the spring with a sigh, shifting quickly to begin the journey back. 

He could see why she preferred this to the public baths. Seclusion aside, there was no frigid trek back to the inn with wet hair—even a few minutes of which would put a chill back in anyone's bones. He reached town as dusk began to fall and saw that she had left the shutter propped open. He fluttered to a stop on the sill, scratching at the wood with his talon to alert her of his return.

“Come along,” she looked up from her seat at the desk where scrolls were spread out across the surface. “No sense staying in the cold.” 

He dropped to the ground, a feather dropping to the floorboards when he landed, and tried to ignore her chuckle as he hopped his way across the room to seek refuge behind the privacy screen. He shifted back to his form, grateful to see that clothes had been laid out for him in a neat pile. They were the ones he usually saved for their nights inside; a soft set of cotton breeches and a linen shirt. Sometimes he wondered if she knew everything about him. Even the things he had not meant to share. 

He rolled his sleeves as he stepped out from behind the divider. Daine had closed the shutter and reclaimed her place at the desk. A fire roared in the hearth, casting a warm glow across the room. 

“There’s food,” she looked up at him and motioned to a covered plate resting on the other side of the desk before returning to her work. He thanked her and moved to his pack, wanting to take care of anything that needed tending before he settled in. He found his packs stored neatly where he had left them, and considerably lighter than before. He stood, looking around and taking in his surroundings once more. His cloak hung on a hook near the door and his purse sat on the dresser. The bed was empty but he couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow when he saw both sides turned down. His gaze continued to travel across the room until it fell on Daine. 

She nibbled on the end of her quill, studying the scroll in her hand. The end of the feather was mangled as if it had seen many such nights. Her damp curls were swept up and held in place with a pin, but tendrils snaked their way down her long neck and those that were drying sprang loose to frame her face. He noticed that she was hardly decent. She wore a sleeveless shift—a new fashion, tailored shorter to be worn with a shirt and breeches as was becoming more common in Corus—tucked haphazardly into her breeches. The material rested carelessly against her form, fitting loosely and gaping in places while skimming her body in others. She paused, sensing his attention on her, and looked up at him. 

“Oh,” she pulled the quill from her mouth as she realized where his confusion lay. “I put what was clean—which wasn’t much—in the top two drawers.” She pointed to the dresser. “The rest has been sent to the wash. It might be a couple days with the Inn so busy.” She turned away. 

“My bedroll?” He asked quietly, dropping his gaze. 

“Filthy.” 

“I can use yours, I suppose.” 

She glanced at him, quill paused mid-stroke. “Don’t fret. We’ll sort it out.”

He sighed, knowing he wouldn’t be able to concern her over something she obviously found no issue with. Another chair had been brought in, opposite hers. He claimed it, delighting in the feel of a real chair, and lifted the cover off of his plate. His stomach growled loudly and he blushed at her laugh.

“Eat as much as you want. I’ll have what’s left.” 

“Optimistic of you.” 

“I can always call for more.” 

He sorted out his choices, particularly pleased to see a hearty slice of veal among the offerings. He was close to digging in when he noticed the dampness at the back of his neck and cursed under his breath. Setting down his utensils, he ran his hands through his hair, moving slowly and applying just a small touch of his gift to dry the locks as he went. Damp hair was a pet peeve of his and he usually dried it as soon as possible. He was returning to his meal when he looked up to see Daine eyeing him with an expression he knew well. 

“Very well,” he sighed. “Take out your fastening.” He stood with a groan and moved to walk behind her. She pulled the stick from her hair and hung her head back to let her curls fall free. He placed his fingertips at her hairline and threaded them through the strands. He worked in the same methodical way he had tackled his own, but with her thicker hair it took multiple passes to ensure everything was dry. Her head fell back and a soft sigh escaped her, the sound reminiscent enough of a moan that he felt himself flush. He found himself distracted by the way her lips parted as she leaned into the feeling, and how he could feel her shiver as his hands worked through her locks. 

“All done,” he spoke softly as he reached the ends for the last time. She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. He couldn’t help but smile back; she was all blue eyes and unruly hair in the firelight. 

“Goddess, I missed that.”

“And here I thought you missed _me_ ,” he teased, stepping away and reclaiming his seat. 

“Of course I missed you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t _also_ miss the benefits you provide me.” She piled her hair back up, enough to keep it out of her face as she worked but not so carefully that it could have been considered neat. 

Time passed in a comfortable silence as she continued her work and he savored his meal. When the worst of his hunger had subsided he buttered a sweet roll and passed it to her. She took it with a quiet thank you. 

“What are you working on?” With his most pressing base needs satisfied he found his interest piqued. 

“Notes on the Ogres,” she replied, squinting at her work and crossing out a line. “Well, it started that way. When I went to meet them I saw that they make their homes like the ones we met in Scanra—”

“I saw that, actually.” He sorted the food he had saved for her onto one of the plates, keeping the meats for himself and portioning out her favorite morsels. 

“But they sound more like the tribe in Dunlath. Their social structure is like theirs too. They have a chieftain while the Hamrkeng Ogres have a—what did they call him?”

“Jarl, if I remember correctly.” 

“Ah, that’s been bothering me.” She rifled through the papers, making a note on the corner of one near the bottom. “Well, I started taking notes on them and then I started filling in what I knew about the Scanran tribes and those from Dunlath. _Then_ I got to thinking about all the other Immortals we’ve met and—” she gestured to the piles around her with a sigh.

“You have notes at home, surely. I’ve seen you take them.”

“Yes, but only when we’ve specifically gone to study them. All the ones we run into in the course of our work,” she made a face, “a lot of that is just sitting up here.” She tapped her head. “Seems like it should be written somewhere before it gets lost.” 

“A Modern Compendium of Immortals,” he grinned. “My magelet, penning a definitive text.”

“Well, I assume we’ll do it together.” She said it so matter-of-factly, and he was taken aback by how touched he was. He reached across the table to move a pile of parchment and replace it with a plate. 

“I would be honored.” He meant it. “Perhaps eat something first though.”

She relented, picking at the meal as she reviewed her notes. He was perusing the parchments he had picked up, and mentally compiling a list of notations to make, when her sigh interrupted him. 

“I suppose it’s also a distraction from what’s to come. If I’m being honest.” She bit her lip. “Fair hopeful of me to think I’ll have time to work on anything of this sort.” 

“A distraction isn’t necessarily a bad thing. You shouldn’t put aside your personal goals just because—” he trailed off, the implication hanging heavy in the air. 

She put her quill down and leaned back in her chair. Firelight cast shadows across her face and she looked older than he’d ever seen her. She was youthful, to be sure, but beyond the smooth skin and thick curls there was a weight in her eyes. A weariness that only came with too much, too fast, too young. 

“Numair,” she dropped her voice to speak in a hushed tone. “The charms and walls and alliances; it’s all very well and good for bandits but,” she shook her head, “we’re talking war with Scanra.”

“I know.”

“This place won’t stand a chance.”

“I know.”

“What do we do?” 

“The best thing would be for them to move.”

“I can’t see most of these people abandoning their home.” 

“They’ll have to when it’s razed.”

“You know it will be too late for them then.”

“Is there anyone influential who could be trusted to be discreet? You mentioned someone.”

“Helene,” she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “I’m not sure yet. She lives and breathes this town. Some people are like that; made of the ground they walk on.”

“It’s a start, at least. If you can introduce us,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was hoping they had strong ties to a fief but luck isn’t on our side. Places like this thrive on a certain level of lawlessness. Even if they were ordered out they’d stay until they were forced, and by the time that could happen,” he didn’t want to finish the thought much less say it. “Is there movement up north?” 

“Nothing that confirms troops heading South, but there’s activity for sure. The owls have been especially useful—they have a knack for this work and are as patient as they come but they can be slow to pass word. I hope to know more soon but this isn’t like The Swoop. There’s a lot of miles to cover, and with each one the time it takes to gather information increases.” 

“We have some time anyway. Not a lot, but some.” He stood and slipped his hands into his pocket. It didn’t seem so long ago that they were ending a war. A short, brutal war that he had hoped would be their last. He was sure this one would be brutal but feared it would not be short. In a way it was easier to correct a divine imbalance than the failings of mortals. He studied the fire and wondered how many more times they were fated to bear witness to this—the calm before the storm, a rising tide, and the devastation that followed. 

“We can start in the morning.” He released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Fortifying them against their immediate concerns won’t hurt, and it will give us time to sort out our next steps.” He looked back at her and offered a weak smile before taking a seat on the settee. “Why don’t you tell me where you’re at with your notes?”

The rustling of papers could be heard from behind him as he closed his eyes and sank back into the cushions, enjoying the heat of the fire. The seat shifted as she sat next to him and he glanced at her when she scooted close enough that he had to raise his arm around her, but didn’t reject the closeness. It was a liberty he wasn’t used to her taking, but after so long apart he couldn’t blame her for wanting a little nearness. 

Daine leaned against him, hair draping across his chest, and settled into the crook of his arm. “Killer unicorns.”

He made a disdainful noise low in his throat.

“Your least favorite, I know.” He could hear the teasing in her voice. 

“Spidrens, actually. Can’t stand them.”

“We can agree on that. Why did I think it was unicorns though?”

“It was; for a while.”

“What changed? Did a spidren call your mother something unbecoming?” 

“No,” he snorted, “well, probably.” He gripped her more firmly. “Killer unicorns almost killed you, and then spidrens _really_ almost killed you.” His voice was quiet.

“To be fair, the spiders had a very tall cliff to help with that. The unicorns were much more efficient on their own.”

“I know you’re trying to joke but I fail to see the humor.” He shot her a sour look but only received laughter in return. 

“An argument could be made that _I’m_ the common factor here. Perhaps I should stop almost dying.”

“I would like to request that you also stop _actually_ dying.”

“Now who's trying to make jokes?” She nudged him with her elbow, but smiled. 

“Mine was funny.”

“Do you want to hear my notes or not?”

He paused, smiling, and dropped his head back again. “I will be good.”

“Alright,” she relaxed back into him, “I will need your help with the portions on their bile. I know it hurts and that’s about it. I’ve no interest in mucking around with it as you have.” 

Half a candle mark had passed as she read through her notes and added his comments as he made them. The fire burned a little less bright as his answers became sluggish until she shook his shoulder gently. “Numair,” she whispered as she roused him. He opened his eyes, blinking and taking a deep breath. She was still tucked in under his arm, her face close to his. “You’re fair tired. Perhaps it’s time you turn in?”

She moved to allow him to reclaim his arm as he leaned forward and rubbed his face. A blink had turned into sleep before he knew it. “You might be right.” 

“I’ll be up for a while yet, but go ahead and get some rest.” She reached out and pushed an errant lock of hair behind his ear. He hesitated, glancing at the bed and back at her. “Don’t worry about it. Just tuck in.” 

He didn’t respond right away, but after a long moment had passed with no retraction from her he stood and stretched. He rested his hand on her shoulder as he passed her and let his fingers linger on her skin. An indulgent move he rarely allowed himself. “Goodnight, magelet.”

“Goodnight.” She had turned back to her work, firelight highlighting her silhouette. His fingers faltered when they met the hem of his shirt, unsure of where the next line after the one they were about to cross lay. Deciding, he slipped the garment off and slid under the heavy blankets. His head had barely met the pillow before he fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Movement roused him just enough to notice the changes. Where there had been the crackling of fire there was the faint whistling of wind, and where there had been firelight the soft glow of moonlight streaming through gaps in the shutters providing the only guiding light. Daine hovered over him, one knee on the bed as she pulled her hair from it’s fastening. The silver light outlined her form through the shift that came just low enough to conceal the tops of her thighs. 

He turned to face her, half-awake and thinking that he had seen this before—in the kind of dream that left him ashamed and wanting more. She paused, looking down at him, but he couldn’t make out her expression in the half-light. Sleep reached for him once more just as he reached out for her. His hand found her thigh and he moved his thumb in small circles against her skin. Something besides sleep pulled at him, something that told him he was doing something he shouldn't. 

She moved but not in the way he would have expected had his wits been about him. She didn’t recoil or push him away but crawled into bed, sliding under his hand so that it traveled up her body to push beneath her shift and rest on the bare skin of her hip above her loincloth. She pressed herself forward, burying her face in his chest, and breathed deeply. His grip tightened enough to pull her into him before sleep took him once more. 


	2. Charmless

He woke late the next morning to the sound of a fire in the hearth and the bustling of everyday life below. He sat up, rubbing the sleep in his eyes as he gathered himself. Sunlight streamed through the shutters, but from the way they rattled against sill the day was surely just as blustery as the one before. Daine was placing a tray on the table and he realized it must have been the sound of the door opening that had roused him. 

“I’ve brought you some breakfast.” The smell of bacon filled the room and he felt himself perk up considerably. 

Something tugged at him as he watched her move about the room. There was something pulling on the edge of his consciousness, like a dream or a childhood memory that you aren’t sure really happened. Something important that moved further away the harder he tried to grasp it. He sighed softly, shaking his head. Her demeanor as she moved around the room seemed normal enough. 

“I have some errands to run, but I’ll be back in a bit. When you’re ready I can introduce you to some townsfolk. Helene, at least.” She put her hands on her hips, looking away. “Marta, the innkeeper, told me they’ll have some spare rooms today.” She nodded, more to herself than anyone. Her expression was foreign to him. “Take your time getting ready,” she waved towards his breakfast. “We’re in no rush.”

He nodded, never one for much talk when he first woke. She pulled on her coat and reached for the door. Hand poised on the handle, she paused and turned to look at him over her shoulder. She spoke quietly but held his eye. “I did hear from one of the watchmen that another caravan is expected any day now, so the rooms may not last long,” she bit her lip. “Almost feel sorry for them with it being so unpleasant out.”

He met her gaze, unraveling her words and reforming them into a response. “Maybe I’ll hold off for a bit. It would be a shame to leave them in the cold.” She nodded, the ghost of a smile gracing her features, and left. 

He fell back against the bed with a groan. What had possessed him to say he’d stay? What had possessed _her_? He tore off the covers, shivering when his feet hit the cold floor. He’d chalk it up to missing her. After so much time worrying about her, it was nice to fall asleep knowing without a doubt that she was safe. 

He dressed quickly, grateful for the fire. It would be a busy day, he was sure, and that was only the start of things. There was no time for pondering his relationship with Daine—he’d have time for that hobby later. He caught his reflection when he leaned over the washbasin, nearly bent in double, and grimaced. Weeks on the road and, he’d admit, some laziness on his part had resulted in more than the beginning of a beard. 

It was quick enough work to correct it—straight razor, brush and soap had been left for him next to the basin and he took the hint. Running his hand over his chin to check for stubble he couldn’t help to notice the new lines that seemed to appear day-by-day around his eyes. Signs of plenty of laughter, Daine would say when he complained. His hair was getting long—longer than he usually kept it. There was a new, shorter, style that had been popular of late at court and he considered whether or not it was time to try something new. Wondered if she would like it....

He straightened, rubbing his face with his hands, and moved away from the mirror. He heard children laughing from outside as he took his breakfast. He ate slowly, using the break to update his notes. He would need to send a report soon, but not before he had the lay of the land. 

Sated, for the moment, he checked on his belongings. It was unnerving how well she had organized them—as if he had done it himself. He counted how many fire protection—utijval—charms he had on hand and sighed. Not nearly enough. Plenty for an Inn and a handful of houses but not for fortifications of this size. They would get him started but he hoped luck was with him and that one of the caravans would have some in stock. 

Daine had yet to return and he decided to venture out on his own. If he could finish his survey from yesterday—this time from the ground—he hoped to be able to map out his plan that night. He pulled a leather-bound notebook from his drawer and pulled on his cloak. When he tried to roll the ledger into a pocket he found it already full and found a pair of scanran-style gloves. He’d seen them before, but never had a pair. They didn’t look practical for taking notes but they did look warm and so he left them.

The common area was quieter than the night before, with only a spattering of guests to fill it. He checked with two of the groups for utijval charms; one were just travelers and the other spoke enough common that he was reasonably sure they didn’t have any, but not completely. His grasp on the Southern and Eastern dialects were decent, but he faltered when facing the North or West. He wondered if Daine knew any Scanran, growing up so close to the border, and wondered how he had never thought to ask. 

Declining a drink from the plump woman behind the bar he stepped out into the cold air, blinking in the sunlight. He pulled the gloves on as he walked, silently thanking Daine as the wind whistled around him. He retraced their steps from the day before, moving back to the main area of town. As good a place to start as any. 

He paced the perimeter of what appeared to act at the town square, counting the buildings as he went. He had planned to take notes, but from the way the guards eyed him he thought it may be best to wait for introductions. Trading towns were some of the most welcoming and least trusting. He turned when he heard a guard shout, and watched another run to open the gate. A rider entered at a canter. Numair was about to turn away when the messenger shouted.

“Helene!” Attention drawn, Numair turned fully to see who the rider addressed. A heavily-bundled woman was standing on the rampart, hand grasping the wall as she looked down at her caller. “Caravan; about two hours. Rodrick says the weather should hold.”

“Go tell Marta; she’ll want a headcount,” she spoke Common fluently, but her accent had a heaviness common in the North, “ And get a drink to warm yourself. On me.” She motioned for him to go and the rider headed the way Numair had come from, barely glancing at the mage as he did. Numair looked back at the wall to see that she had turned away again, the top of her head barely visible from his vantage point. 

He nodded at the guard when he reached the stairs and was pleased to receive no trouble as he rose the stairs. She was a small woman, though if stocky from build or so many layers of fabric he couldn’t tell. 

“Helene?” 

She turned to him, moving her head up in a way he was all too familiar with—few expected to have to look so far up to meet his eyes. She nodded, “speaking.”

He bowed, “Numair Salmalín, at your service. I arrived last night. Daine said she’d introduce us but she’s out.”

She nodded, recognition registering at the mention of Daine. “She didn’t tell me who was coming. Salmalín; you’re the black robe.” It was a statement. 

“We often work together.” 

She nodded again, and he couldn’t help but wonder why she looked so somber. It was as if she was accepting something. “She’s been a fair help. I don’t think we’ve ever had such good behavior from our mounts—although I don’t think they’ve ever gotten so many carrots either.”

“She mentioned you’ll allow the Ogres to settle, as well. We’ve seen far more cases than not where it’s been beneficial to everyone.”

“Yes,” she shrugged, wisps of grey hair fluttering from beneath her hat, “well I’d prefer if you didn’t bring that up to too many. We’re slow to change here and I’m doing my best to ease everyone in. Best let it settle quietly, so it starts working in everyone's interest before they have too much time to think about it.” 

“I understand.” He smiled, enjoying her forthright nature. She seemed sharp, which is more than he could say for many of the town’s they passed through. 

“Did she show you around?”

“I got the gist of it. We would like to fortify the walls and buildings against fire, if that’s alright with you.”

“You ask as if you’re posing an inconvenience,” she raised an eyebrow, clutching her cane in front of her with both hands. He ducked his head with a smile.

“It’s a benefit to be sure, but it will be a process. It will take some time and some get uncomfortable around magic.” He shrugged, “there may be a few loud noises. Occasionally.” 

“You can borrow a pan from Marta and bang on it all the while you work if it will protect us from burning,” she waved her hand at him, urging him to do as he will. 

“If you wouldn’t mind letting the guards know. I’ll need to inspect the walls and structures so I know where to anchor my spells, and it makes them nervous.”

“Consider it done. They’ll pay you no mind even if they _aren’t_ sleeping at their post,” she said sourly. “If you need anything, let me know. I’d like to invite you both to dinner tonight as well; now that you’ve arrived.” 

He bowed his head, “we gladly accept.” He was itching to speak to her more privately. She wasn’t dumb, and perhaps only moderately stubborn—both good qualities in a leader. Perhaps she could be convinced to relocate. 

“Good,” she nodded back to him and offered a wry smile. “It will be at the Inn. I don’t cook, but if my husband was here he’d tell you you wouldn’t want me to.” She made a sign to the Black God, bringing her fingers to her lips with the practiced ease of someone long widowed. 

He nodded his understanding and turned to leave when a gust of wind caught his cloak and he had to stop and steady himself. “I’d suggest you get a new coat too. You’ll fly away with that.” He couldn’t tell if she was teasing, or disapproving, but looked back at her with a self-deprecating smile before wrapping it around himself more firmly and fighting against the wind as he moved along the rampart. 

He walked the entire perimeter twice, taking notes of the layout on the first and on how the anchor points could connect on his second. Helene was gone after his first pass-through which was just as well as it allowed him to focus on his work. There were only two gates—the North and South— which was helpful. He cursed, softly, when he realized he had forgotten to ask Helene about more charms and made a mental note to inquire at dinner.

The interior perimeter was more complicated but also more pleasant to explore, offering more protection from the wind. There were many places where the buildings pressed against the walls and he spent his afternoon winding in and out of every nook and cranny to ensure his map was accurate. He had just rounded a corner, eyes glued to his diagram, when he came to a sudden halt with an apology to the person he had nearly run into. The man didn’t respond, sizing Numair up with ice-blue eyes as he passed. He realized it was the same man who had seen him flying the day before. He didn’t mention that they had met before. Somehow he doubted it would help.

Three hunting dogs—elkhounds, from the looks of them—followed behind him. They stopped when they reached Numair, wagging their tails with excitement. The hunter glared at Numair and yelled for his charges. He shooed them softly and they followed their master. Animals gravitated to him now, even when Daine wasn’t by his side. He had asked her why, two summers back, and she had just shrugged and said the people knew he was pack. He smiled at the memory. 

When he decided he’d like to feel his nose again he returned to the room. He declined an offer to have their fire lit for them, preferring to avoid anyone seeing proof that they had slept in the same room, and handled the chore himself. Even with the fire at full force and the settee pulled as close to it as he could muster without actually being in danger of igniting himself it felt as though it took forever for him to warm. 

He compared his notes—overhead, rampart, and interior—and transferred them carefully into a single diagram, taking care to clean up his notations as he went. He still needed the exterior ground level, but it was late enough in the day that he had no hope of finishing before dark and decided it could wait. He made small marks, barely visible, where he thought anchors would be best suited. When he finished the perimeter he could mark them fully and arrange the connections. He would need at least twice as many charms as he had brought, and that was an optimistic outlook. 

The door opened and Daine entered, rubbing her arms and greeting him as she b-lined for the fire. She was flushed when she looked back at him, nose bright red.

“I’m sorry. The day got clear away from me—I suppose I’ve gotten used to taking my time,” she shook her head, hands held out to the flames. “Did you get along alright?”

“Well enough,” he gestured towards his work. “I met Helene. She’d like to have dinner downstairs.” 

“I saw her on my way up, actually. She said there was no rush; we can join when we’re ready.”

Satisfied with his work for the moment, he stacked his papers into neat piles and stood. “Shall we tawdle down?” 

“I need to warm up first, I think, but I’ll join you soon.” She winked at him, “I won’t be far behind—I know a shortcut.” Her clothes dropped to the floor in a heap, and a tabby slinked from the pile and flopped itself in front of the fire. 

“Very cute,” he indulged when the cat rolled over, stretching all four paws, and exposed its belly to the warmth. “Enjoy, and try not to fall into a cat nap.” He could hear her purring until he closed the door behind him. 

The tavern was pleasantly full—enough to lose the strains of individual conversations but not so much that you had to fight for a seat—and smelled of salted meat, juniper, and caraway. Despite his late breakfast, his stomach growled at the scents and he found himself hoping Daine didn’t bask for _too_ long. 

“Good evening,” he addressed Helene, who motioned for him to take a seat. She raised her hand and he saw the woman who had offered him a drink earlier that day wave in response—Marta, he presumed. He would need to make an introduction soon enough as it looked like they would be staying a while. 

“You look warmer,” she remarked, “though still so unusually _tall_. Watch you’re way down those stairs, there’s a low beam.”

“I appreciate the warning.” He would have appreciated it more earlier. 

“Daine joining still?” She asked as she accepted two mugs from a scrawny boy with blemished skin. 

“Yes, though she doesn’t care for ale,” he accepted his with a polite thank you. 

“It’s mead, not that wash you southerners are always on about. Another please, Walt.” She watched him go, shaking her head and clicking her tongue. “Poor boy; he’ll be disappointed come Beltane. He’s sweet on the Mallory girl but she’s a finicky one and his awkward years aren’t behind him yet.” 

“Ah, I can commiserate. I’m hoping my awkward years will be over any time now.”

It seemed to take a moment for his words to sink in, but she barked with laughter as she turned back to him. Amusement wore well on her and he realized she might be younger than he had thought. Not so many hard years as hard living to fill them. “First they send people so important, and then you both go around acting like you’re regular people.” She shook her head.

“I assure you, we’re not so strange.” He weighed his own words, wincing, “most of the time, anyway.”

“Well, if you’re aiming to fit in I’ve brought something to help.” She pulled something from the bench beside her, passing it over the table to him. He accepted it, surprised, and felt the fabric settle into his hands. He recognized the thick wool, and embroidered trim—a scanran style coat similar to Daine’s. While the detail on hers was a forest green and deep purple, this was of similar shades of dark blue. He turned it in the light, noticing the subtlety of the pattern against the heavy material. 

“Thank you,” he was sincere. “That’s more than generous; you didn’t have to do that.”

“You’ll be of no use to us if you freeze to death before you can work your magic. If you can help protect the people here we will be more than settled. We don’t have much here, but it’s something.” She eyed him, warily, “besides, I can’t promise it will be long enough.”

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting,” Daine slid into the seat next to them, dressed in a thick blue tunic. Her hair was braided loosely, and curls framed her face as she greeted them. She leaned over to inspect the coat in Numair’s hands. “Oh, that’s lovely Helene.”

The older woman waved her off, motioning for Walt to hurry along. He did, and soon there was not only mead but stew and hot bread baked with garlic and cardamom. They fell into comfortable conversation. It always amazed him at how easily Daine connected with people when she often thought of herself as such an outside. People who gave her half a chance had a tendency to want to give her much more. He didn’t blame them. 

He learned a lot about the people of the town, though little he would be able to match to names come morning. He made note of some of the names that came up often—Idony, Cecil, Leuan. Changing the opinion of many often meant only convincing a few. 

Talk turned to Walt and his romantic woes—or lack thereof— and Daine laughed, “Beltane seems to cause trouble no matter where you go.” He glanced at her, noticing the glint in her eyes when she met his. There was something about it that he wasn’t sure he recognized—not on her. It was something that excited him and he had to pull himself from dangerous thoughts and back to the conversation at hand. 

“That’s the truth of it if the Great Mother Goddess is kind.” Helene had a twinkle in her eye. “We may not look like much now, but we clean up when the occasion calls for it. It’s not quite a month off, now. You’re both welcome to stay and jump over our fire.” 

He was opening his mouth to say thank you when he realized that she meant _they_ were welcome to jump over embers, _together_. So matter-of-factly. Like there would be nothing strange about that. Nothing to pass judgement on. Instinct kicked in and he laughed, turning the implication into a joke—something laughable to him, at least. “Daine and I are friends, nothing more.” He shifted, pulling his body to lean away from his friend. He realized, too late, that while the moment had stretched for him his reply had been a little too quick. 

Helene looked between them, eyes flicking towards the staircase that led to the guest rooms and back to Numair. Confirmation that Marta had a loose mouth, if anything. “Of _course_ not.” 

Daine took a long drink of mead, turning her head away from him, and he cleared his throat, “thank you for the invitation though. I just don’t think we’ll be staying to jump over any embers this year.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I know _you_ won’t be jumping over any anytime soon.” 

He thought he heard Daine snort but she spoke before it could fully register, “Poor Walt though. He’d be sweet looking if his skin cleared. Numair, you’re a fair hand with tonics—what do you think?”

He cocked his head, thinking. He didn’t particularly like it when she let on to others how vain he was. He preferred them to learn that directly from him, naturally and in due time after he’d won them over with more fetching qualities. “Witch hazel, perhaps…” Indexing alchemical properties was far more comfortable territory. 

It was only when the volume rose did Numair realize they had been part of the early crowd. Helene pushed her bowl back ,“If you’ll excuse me I owe too many people over bad dice throws to linger much longer. You’ll let me know if either of you need anything?” 

He swallowed and put down his spoon, “Actually, I do have a few things.” He had become caught up enough in the gossip that he’d nearly forgotten. “Do you have any local hedge witches, mages? I will need some materials to fortify the fire wards.” 

“There’s Njall Hrolfra; he runs a small shop by the Mallory’s.” Scanran by the name; interesting. Helene shifted, “I couldn’t say what he offers. I have no use, personally, and he hasn’t been here long. A year, maybe.” More interesting. He glanced at Daine, noting her expression and how it mirrored his own. 

“No, that’s helpful. Hopefully he’ll have what I need,” he could see that Helene was uncomfortable and didn’t want to damage whatever good will had begun to accumulate. “I’ve also been working on a map to plan out the wards. The walls are built so close to the houses, there are nooks and crannies I can’t get into without being more invasive than I would like. I was wondering if you would be able to take a look at them? And if you could point out any areas that you’ve had problems with wear, or any buildings that are of particular importance.”

She nodded, steadying herself on her cane and standing. “I have the town survey records. Somewhere, anyway. Come by tomorrow and we can compare.” She pulled on her coat, managing her cane with a practiced ease. “No, sit,” she motioned for them to stay as they were when they moved to stand.

“Tomorrow,” he called after her and she waved back at them, not bothering to turn. 

He turned to look at Daine, “another drink?” 

“I’d like to but I’ve so much work left still,” she sighed and pushed her mug away. 

He mirrored her, thinking of his own report. The one he had yet to start. He gathered his gift from Helene, stroking the embroidery as they returned to their room. 

“You’re free to use the table, if you need to spread out. I can use my travel desk.” 

“It’s yours; I need to go out again.” She was freeing her hair from it’s braid. 

“At this hour?” He hung up his coat, brows knitted. 

She sighed and put her hands on her hips. “The owl’s didn’t have anything for me. Nothing useful anyway.” 

“That’s unusual. They’re usually fast, aren’t they?”

“Yes and no,” she was frustrated, he could tell. “They’ll work with the bats back home but we’re too far north here. The bats—there being so many of them— cover a lot of ground quickly, the owls can take their count and report back to me. 

“Of what information I _am_ getting I’m not sure we can count on. They’re solitary, and their territories are big enough that while they’re in one place things could be changing in the other. I just feel like there are gaps everywhere. Honestly, we’ve been lucky to have been able to use one strategy in so many places.” 

“What are you thinking?” He leaned against the table, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Diversify. There’s still a lot of life here—if you know where to look. The hare’s, the mountain goats. Snowcocks, if you fly high enough. I just need to find enough of them. Like lighting the first match.” She was wringing her hands, a habit she’d developed for when she was planning. Probably a bad one picked up from him. 

“Can you wait until morning?” He didn’t like the thought of her out in the mountains at night but she shook her head. 

She moved behind the divider, her voice becoming muffled. “I’d like to reach what nocturnal people I can tonight, and go again tomorrow for the others. If it’s not tonight it will be tomorrow night. I just haven’t been able to reach enough of them from here. The mountains are too far.” 

“Be careful then.”

“I will,” she said and the sound was followed by the fluttering of wings as she appeared, in harrier form, to settle on the back of the chair. He opened the shutter for her and watched her fly away before setting his mind to his own work. The report took him longer than he would have liked—punishment for so much procrastination, he was sure. His eyes were heavy by the time he sealed it. Despite sleeping so late he could feel the deficit luring him to bed. 

He had half a mind to fly out and look for Daine, but the other half knew he would never find her. He could fret, but that wouldn’t change the fact that she was more than capable of taking care of herself. Instead, he made sure the shutter was propped open and lit a new candle so she would still have light should she return after the fire died down. 

* * *

He woke when the fluttering of wings turned to the padding of feet on wooden floors. The fire was low, and he watched light shift against the walls when Daine picked up the candle and moved about the room. He heard the shutter latch and the sound of her footsteps and then very little. 

He rolled over, concerned, to see the paper of the divider illuminated by candlelight. Her shadow glowed against the surface, detailed down to the curve of her hips and fullness of her breasts as she pulled on a shift. He rolled back, closing his eyes. What light reflected across the room was extinguished and he felt the mattress dip as she slid into bed. He closed his eyes when she pressed the length of her body against his back, shivering and wrapping an arm around his waist.


	3. Groundwork

He was alone again when he woke. It was earlier, at least. Early enough that if he hadn’t remembered Daine coming to bed he would have worried she was still out. He pulled himself upright from where he had bundled the blankets around himself in her absence, and shivered when his feet touched the bare floor. The chill that seemed to pervade everywhere but the hearth urged him to make short work of readying himself for the day and he found himself pausing only when he found a long, brown strand of hair tangled in his own. He pulled at it as he pushed thoughts of her pressed against his chest away. 

The sun was barely sweeping over the horizon when the guard let him through the gate and he was thankful for the warm sweet roll Marta had pushed on him. His morning work was considerably quicker than the day before. The exterior wall posed none of the interior’s challenges with the only significant notes revolving around the gates. For once, something was going smoothly and was probably the last thing that would. 

He was more awake as he returned to the Inn and noticed the flash of copper fire coming from the stables. He peeked into Cloud’s stall, showing the pony that he had nothing in his pockets and ignoring her complaint, to see Daine huddled over an arctic fox. The animal still sported its winter coloring, but a streak of muddy-red traveled across its flank. He unlatched the stall as quietly as he could and settled next to her, careful not to disturb her or her charge. Cloud bristled at sharing her space with yet another living thing and he made a mental note to bring her an apple later. 

It was amazing how easy she made it look now—gone were the days where she would be drenched with sweat and shaking at the exertion of healing even the smallest injury. Based on the amount of blood he wasn’t sure she could have saved this one when she was first exploring her power. He could remember the first of the people she lost and her devastation. She still lost some and it still hurt, he knew, but they were few and far between now. 

He heard footsteps outside of the stall, hurried, and the sounds of someone rummaging through a nearby stall. He cocked his head, interest piqued to hear whoever it was muttering under their breath. Numair had a habit of keeping himself company and wasn’t one to judge others for doing the same but something seemed off. The voice was too low to make out the words over the sounds of whatever occupied the stranger. Male, though. Gruff. Anxious. He straightened, as if a better posture would improve his hearing and was surprised to find it helped. 

“If that snow-swaddled—” the man said something so creatively vulgar that he glanced at Daine to see if it had broken her concentration, but she remained focused on her work. The expletives continued, however, and Numair felt as though something was tugging at the back of his mind. There was something important about what he was hearing but whatever it was danced just out of his grasp. The accent was heavy, but not abnormal for the area. Similar to the others he had heard during dinner the night prior. Not full Scanran, but more stunted than the Common spoken in the south. Something about the rhythm, though...

He leaned his head back against the stall, listening to the mutterings, until he accepted that whatever revelation he had thought was on the horizon was actually miles away. There was a scroll on the transmutative powers of Wyvern scales sitting on his desk back in Corus he felt much the same about. Silence returned as suddenly as it had stopped. A moment passed, followed by a low sigh and the sounds of footsteps retreating. Numair peeked over the stall door but saw no one. 

He had just begun to settle in again when the little fox sprang up from Daine’s lap, moving in circles as if to appraise itself. She laughed at something and motioned for her charge to calm down. 

“I told him he can sleep here until it’s dark. Too many here like their winter pelts.” She stood, moving so that the fox could settle into the corner. Numair didn’t question that she knew he was there, just as she didn’t question how he had found her. “ _You_ will be good,” she pointed at her pony, giving her a knowing look.

“Did you get any sleep?” He rose and followed her from the stall. She closed the door, but didn’t latch it. 

“Not nearly enough.” Her eyes were heavy. “Quicksnow woke me early and it took me longer than I thought. A Polar Owl nearly took his leg clean off, and then he just about bled out trying to make it across the valley. It’s a shame I didn’t hear him when I was already out.”

“It worked out though.” He hesitated, before giving in and chiding, “and you do need sleep, occasionally.”

" _Y_ _es_ ,” she rolled her eyes, looking up at him. “Which I plan to do now. Are you heading back?” 

“I am,” he motioned to the papers stuffed in his pocket. “I finished my survey and want to update my notes before seeing Helene.”

She nodded, stifling a yawn. 

“Say hello for me,” her voice was taking on the telltale sign that she would be asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. They moved across the yard and he could already hear that the Tavern was far more alive than it had been that morning. Looking around he saw that the stables had more tenants than the day before. 

“How did last night go?”

“Not bad; I think I’ve figured some things out. The owls won’t be much help—it’s about to be mating season and you know owls, they can’t be bothered with much else with that on the horizon—”

“I’m not sure that’s specific to owls.” That earned an exasperated glance, but also a smile.

“Well, the males don’t want anything to do with each other right now. No one wants to risk inviting another too close to their territory and the females, well, competition is tight this year. There’s a particularly attractive male—flies-like-starlight—that they all have their sights on—”

“Again, this sounds familiar. Remember when that Marquis came to court for the season two years back?”

“The snow leopards are wrapping their season up, but there aren’t many of them and they also have large territories—not so different from the owls _and_ they can’t fly. They’re sneaky though; you’d be amazed how close you could be to one and never even know.”

“That’s hardly comforting.”

“They wouldn’t hurt _you_.” She opened the door and sighed when they stepped into the warmth, unbuttoning her coat and moving out of the doorway. “Anyway, they like the dried meat humans carry with them and they’ll give me counts when they raid supplies. Until they start to have their litters, anyway.

“They’re pretty good with taking count, being apex predators and all. Now, the snowcocks and the goats—they’ll be key. The leopards are so spread out it’s hard to get word quickly, and the goats won’t talk to them on account of being eaten so often—”

“Can’t fault them there.” He put a hand out to nudge her, moving her out of the way of a merchant carrying a bundle of thick fabric. It appears a makeshift market had sprung up while they were away. 

“The snowcocks _will_ though. THey’re, well, _cocky_ and don’t feel half so threatened. They’ve agreed to take the leopard's counts when they come back up into the mountains, and pass them onto the goats. They nest pretty far up for human-spotting, but some of the young ones are feeling like they’d like to prove themselves daring and will fly out when they can. They’ll pass on the numbers they get to the goats, the goats will pass them to me, I’ll work out the numbers and there you have it!” She exhaled hard and put her hands on her hips.

“Simple,” he nearly laughed.

“It should work,” she shook her head, mirroring his expression, before noticing the bustle around them. “Oh, I forgot to mention that Marta let’s caravans set up here when it’s still cold out. You might find some of those charms if you’re lucky.” Her gaze fell on a table of brightly colored silk as she scanned the wares. 

He nodded, noticing her distraction, and moved away. Most of the goods were provisions—coffee from Carthak, dried wax apples from The Yamani Isles—or clothing—one particularly ornate riding cloak of Sirajit design caught his eye and he wondered if Thayer ever had something similar. He noticed some small weapons, hunting daggers mostly, placed between other items and his watchful eye saw one or two bundles being passed surreptitiously under tables. Dreamrose, possible. Dragonsalt, perhaps. 

Some luck, at least, was with him and he found an elderly merchant huddled near the fire with a small collection of magical wares, including six utijval charms. He overpaid and the merchant pretended he was sad to see them go at such a discount. 

He was surprised to find Daine where he had left her, expecting her to be fast asleep in their rooms by then. She was holding two dressing gown—one red and one blue—of a soft silky material. 

“The blue’s nice,” he leaned closer to her ear when he stepped behind her so that she would be able to hear in the bustle. She didn’t jump but looked at him as she set them down.

“You _always_ like the blue.” 

“Not buying it?”

She laughed, “just to have it covered in animal mess before i’d even put it on? Fine things aren’t for the likes of me.” 

“If you like it, you should buy it.” It was a debate they had on a regular basis and so he let it rest at that and watched as she picked up a small grey smock, embroidered with dragons around the hem and motioned for the merchant. She haggled easily and dropped a small pile of coins into the man's palm. 

“Kit can have nice things, but you can’t?” He couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the young dragon in it. Over the last year, Kit had become enamoured with the fashion at court—often choosing to sit in with Thayet at dress fittings. Ever indulging, he and Daine had both purchased a small number of items to keep her satisfied.

“ _She_ has magic to fix them when she destroys them,” she replied dryly, before sighing deeply. “I miss her.”

“I do too.” It had been a relief to see Daine again, but he couldn’t ignore the dragon-shaped hole between them. “But she’ll be back in midsummer. Not so long now.”

“No,” she sighed again and turned towards the stairs. “And I know it’s good for her to spend time with other dragons.” He knew her enough to know that even though she had long broken the actual habit, she probably _wanted_ to bite her nails. 

“But?” He ducked to avoid the low beam as they climbed the stairs.

“But, they’ll all be around long after we’re dead. Can’t she just wait until then?”

“Not much longer now.” He reached out to squeeze her hand. She returned the gesture, before pushing their door open. She had barely crossed the threshold when she yawned. He chucked, and prodded her forward. 

“You get some sleep; I’ll get a fire going before I head back out.” 

She mumbled her thanks and he got to work on the fire, taking the last of the firewood and making a mental note to request more. He heard her move around the room behind him as he worked—the sound of her heavy coat settling against the hook, the soft splashes of the wash basin as she rinsed her face, the clink of her belt as it hit the floor, and the swish of fabric against skin as she slid into bed. 

When the fire burned steadily he turned to find her fast asleep, the curls peeking from the top of the covers the only clue that there was a person underneath the pile of blankets. 

He slipped out, careful to close the door quietly, and took his work to the tavern where he was able to secure a small corner table. What it lacked in warmth, it possessed in relative peace. He hadn’t realized that afternoon had crept closer until Wart appeared at his side with a bowl of stew and a generous slice of steaming bread that smelled of cloves. 

“Thank you,” he moved his diagrams aside, motioning to the boy that he could put the meal down. “Oh, we’ll be needing some more firewood.” He flushed when he realized he had done little to maintain discretion, but if Wart thought anything of it he didn’t let on. The boy nodded, and moved away to answer a call for more mead from somewhere across the room. 

The last of the ink had dried when Walt returned with the bundle and cleared his bowl. Numair left a silver noble on the table, knowing he overpaid but that Jon preferred it that way. Not enough to appear a braggart but enough to spread a bit of extra coin to the far corners of his realm. 

Marta was urging the merchants to pack up for the day and allow her regular patrons room to eat when he spied the cloth merchant from earlier. He paused at the table, gaze falling on a swatch of blue silk draping out from underneath a heavily embroidered tunic. 

“How much?” He asked, setting the firewood down. 

“Ah, finest embroidery north of The Great Inland sea. For you, sir, two gold crowns.” The man smiled, revealing a gold tooth, and Numair scowled. 

“Two _silvers_ seems more appropriate.”

“Please, sir, this is Mulberry silk from the Bombyx Mandara. So rare, that they can only be found in a single bay deep in the Yamani Isles.”

“Bombyx _Mandarina_ , and they can actually be found in most of the nations west of Tortall. Besides, this is Eri silk. Look, you can tell that the threads have been spun together. Mulberry would be much lighter.”

Next time he was home he’d have to tell his father that he’d learned something useful from the family trade after all. After some unhappy bartering with the merchant, they settled on three silvers plus an extra to have it wrapped. Numair watched the man set the fabric on the hand-painted paper and stopped in.

“I’ll take the red, actually.”

Numair added the parcel to his pile and returned upstairs.Daine was still fast asleep, one foot sticking out from underneath the blankets but otherwise still hidden from view. He stoked the fire, adding another log for good measure, and stacked the rest of the wood next to the hearth. 

Taking care to step quietly, he picked up the clothes she had left next to the bed and stacked them neatly atop the dresser. He placed the wrapped parcel on top of them and, thinking better of it, moved it into the drawer before putting it in his own bag and finally returning it to the stacked pile with a sigh. The gesture felt like a mistake, but one that was already half-made. One he wanted to make. 

With the diagram rolled in a sheet of wax-paper, he pulled on his coat and ventured into town. Helene’s house was easy enough to find—facing the south gate, with a blue door painted with small red and yellow flowers just as Daine had described. He knocked softly on the door and then more firmly when no one answered. 

Just when he had begun to think she was out, a voice came from behind him. 

“You must have walked right past me,” Helene scowled, motioning for him to move out of her way with a shake of her cane. 

“Pardon?”

“I was at the Tavern,” she shook her head, pushing open the door and waving for him to follow. She seemed vexed. 

He ducked as he entered, and found that he could barely stand without brushing the ceiling even when he was inside. 

“Don’t bother taking your shoes off,” she pulled a chair out from a small table and pointed at it. “Sit. It’s making me uncomfortable to try and watch you fit in here.”

He laughed and maneuvered around the bundles of herbs hanging from the rafters to dry. “Fact of life for me, I’m afraid. I’m impressed you found a coat that would fit me. Thank you, again. It’s been much better than my cloak.” He set the scroll on the table and loosened the buttons at his throat. The house was small and cozy—too warm for so many layers. 

She eyed him up and down before snorting, “it’s _supposed_ to fall at the knee.”

“Ah,” he faltered and looked down to where the hem rested just beneath his hips and sat down. “Still warm, I assure you.” 

Helene moved surely around the kitchen, cane set aside, as he unfurled the diagram. She had already laid out the survey documents, and he went to work comparing the two. They were detailed, but outdated by nearly a decade. 

“I’m afraid I’ve neglected these,” she said, setting a steaming mug in front of Numair. “I can manage people, but Rorick was always better with records. I’ve no patience for it.” 

“No, this is helpful. I’ve enough to work with as it is, but more details are always better.” 

“I can tell you that the west wall—here,” she pointed, “was rebuilt six years past; frost heaves pushed the footings right out of the ground.”

“Was anything put in place to mitigate it moving forward?”

“Irrigation channels here, here, and here,” she pointed to several areas on the survey and he marked them on his own records. The spell could cross over the channels, but he needed to ensure he didn’t anchor the spell anywhere that water flowed—too many conflicting elements would destabilize the enchantment over time. 

He sipped from his mug, pleasantly surprised at the thick, rich sweetness that greeted him. 

“Butter tea,” she noticed his appraising glance. “I can add some ginger if you’d like some extra kick.”

“No, thank you. This is delicious.” 

A knock at the door interrupted any reply Helene may have had and she excused herself to answer it. He returned to the task at hand, but glanced back at the door when he heard Helene speak to the caller in a low voice. Marta and Helene spoke quickly, the anxiety that had radiated off of the older woman earlier returning in force. Finally, Helene nodded and sighed, placing a hand on the innkeepers arm with a squeeze. Marta left as quickly as she had arrived. 

“Is everything alright?” He found that feigned ignorance was often as awkward as nosiness. 

She shook her head, reclaiming her seat and drumming her fingers on the table. She looked at him, sizing him up to be sure, before sighing, “I caught one of the merchants selling silkspin to Walt.”

“Silkspin?” That was worth putting his quill down. 

“Addles the mind. I know caravans traffic all sorts through here—opium, dreamrose, tar vespers. Dragonsalt, particularly from the West. I don’t make a scene if all they do is pass through with it, but I don’t condone selling to my people. Even then,” she shrugged. “Winters are long and people find ways to amuse themselves. We’ve a handful who enjoy their mead more than it enjoys them. Sometimes other vices, but mostly nothing we can’t handle. 

“Even when Ljoll started with the vespers for a season she wasn’t so far gone. This silkspin, though, it’s vicious. I thought the salts were bad, but this takes someone so quickly. Yarlik—a herder who used to pass through here each year—tried it in the spring and could hardly think of anything else by fall. Stole a horse from Jon Havrik to try and sell it for another fix. Died not two years after. 

“The rest of it, well, it’s all been around forever. I still remember my grandaddy whipping my brother when he caught him and his friends out at the hotsprings one midsummer. This feels like it just appeared out of thin air—”

“That’s because it did, essentially.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. 

“You’re familiar?”

“Not personally, but I’ve seen the effects well enough. When it first started circulating it hit the wharf district of Corus pretty hard.” 

The brothels had been hit the hardest, and any other place where most were looking for an escape. George had enlisted him to help investigate why so many bodies were piling up and Numair had developed a newfound respect for the coroners of the slums. No amount of balsam could cover the stink of death that clung to him those long weeks. 

“No one had heard of it because it didn’t exist before a few years ago. Not in four-hundred years or so, anyway. The main ingredient is spidren venom.” 

“ _Spidren_ venom?” She made a disgusted face, and he grimaced in sympathy.

“It’s distilled with a number of agents, including killer unicorn bile, to denature the venom and increase the hallucinogenic properties.”

Helene whistled, “that’s a lot of effort to go to to ruin your life.”

“And _expensive_. If processed correctly, the result is highly addictive and most users will die within three years. Five if they’re lucky. If it’s not prepared correctly, well,” he sighed, “they’ll die a lot sooner.” 

“Never thought dragonsalt would look quaint.” 

“You said Walt was buying?” 

She sighed, “he swears he was just looking for something to help him with his skin, and the merchant said it would. Marta says she talked to him and he promised he’s never used it before. She believes him, and I believe her. There’s a lot of us to keep an eye on him. He’s a good lad, but still—”

“You worry; of course.” He smiled. “The merchant?”

“Better be in Scanra by now,” she scowled. “But enough—what else do you need to know?” She gestured towards the papers.

“Nothing, actually,” he shrugged. “This should be plenty to start with. I can start immediately. No, you can keep that,” he said when she started to roll up the survey. “I’ll give you my copy as well when I’m done. It might come in handy when you’re updating your records.” That earned a laugh. 

He pulled his coat on and thanked her for the tea.

“Ask Marta to make you some; hers is much better. And let me know if you need anything.” 

He was displeased to find that it was, in fact, colder outside than it had been that morning and so it was extremely disappointing when he passed through the Southern Gate to find that the wind had picked up. 

He pressed his palm against the gate pillar, leaving a small trace of his gift—just enough for him to see it. Taking care to keep his strides even and tight to the perimeter wall, he walked sixty paces and repeated the gesture. He focused, not to control his gift but so as not to lose count, and repeated the sequence until he reached the pillar of the north gate. 

With his gift marking half the perimeter he turned and walked out across the valley. The wind pushed back at him, forcing him to duck his head into his chest. With some steps he wasn’t sure if he moved forward at all as the cold air pushed back at him, urging him to return to that warm room and crawl into bed with—he shook his head and clenched his teeth against the cold. 

Finally, he turned, bracing himself to stand against the gale. It wasn’t comfortable, but the wind at his back was better than against his face. From this distance he could see the entire settlement.

Each touchpoint glowed, visible only to him. He held out both hands, palms up, towards the town as if it rested in his hands. In his left, small pinpricks of black fire appeared—an exact replica of the touchpoints. Carefully, he folded his palm over to rest on top of his right hand, imprinting the points there and drawing his hand back. In his hands rested a perfect, symmetric circle. Looking up, he saw that the touchpoints now formed a mirror-image as well. His hands fell to his sides, and with it his focus—the anchor points were planned and he could begin laying the spell down immediately. 

As his attention to the touchpoints faded, awareness of his surroundings returned. Horns blared from the ramparts. The sound struggled to carry across the blustery lowlands, and the sound wavered as it fought against each gust but the urgency was clear as a bell. He turned, expecting Scanran troops to be marching from the mountains. Instead a white wall was rolling through the valley, like a great cloud sweeping over everything in its path.

Go far enough north and it’s never too late for one last storm. He swore and pulled his gloves on as he pushed forward, picking up speed as he tied to beat the squall. The wind was on his side this time. He stumbled several times as he met ground that had been thawing that morning only to suddenly freeze again as the temperature dropped, but managed to keep a steady pace. 

The watchmen yelled as he approached, the air already hazy with a thick flurry that was merely a harbinger of what was to come. They opened the gate as little as they could get away with, and he forced himself through and helped the men on the other side secure it behind him. 

The gate shuddered as the storm struck it and the wind whistled as it mounted the walls in waves you could see with the bursts of ice and snow that traveled them. The strips of fabric hanging from the windows—all tightly latched now—whipped violently in the gale. By the time he reached the Inn he could barely see across the yard, but could tell that the stable doors had been closed. 

He struggled with the door, nearly falling into the Tavern, and shivered in the sudden relief that accompanied the jarring calm within. The kind of chill that only sunk in when one felt warmth again began to settle and he felt his teeth chatter. 

“Oh, good. You’re the last of them, then—these things come on so fast I fret until everyone’s under my roof,” Marta passed him, carrying a tray of steaming mugs. The Tavern was quiet; he assumed anyone who was not staying there was tucked safely in their own homes. “I’ve already sent a hot meal and mead up to your rooms. Go on and get warm. Daine’s up there already.” She patted his arm, snowflakes falling him sheathes from his coat. He thanked her and brushed off what snow he could. Thick rugs had been piled near the door and they squished beneath his boots with the other guests cast-offs. 

Daine was awake when he entered and smiled when she saw him. 

“You’re back. I was starting to worry,” she started to stand from her nest of blankets in front of the fire but he waved her off. 

“Nearly got caught in it.” He kicked off his boots and stripped off his jacket, realizing how damp he was when it peeled away from his skin. 

“I laid out clothes for you,” she motioned behind the screen before turning away again. 

He nodded and moved closer to the fire—seeking just a little warmth before he changed. He felt something skitter over his foot, and looked down to see a family of root voles had taken up residence near their hearth. 

“Taking in refugees?” He smirked. 

“Just little ones,” she smiled up at him, feeding a vole a small piece of carrot from her plate. Her hair was sleep-mussed and half-pulled from her face. She was wrapped in blankets from the waist-down, but otherwise clad only in her shift and the deep red of the silken dressing gown. His gaze traveled to where the garment threatened to fall from her shoulder and he felt a shiver travel down his spine. He searched for something to say but his mouth was dry and he moved away instead. 

She had left a towel, sleep breeches, loincloth, and a soft, linen shirt behind the screen for him. The water in the wash-basin had been warmed. He made short work of pulling himself together and was already feeling more human, if not a particularly warm one, when he reemerged. 

He joined Daine, sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, and she pushed a tray towards him. His stomach growled loudly enough to garner a laugh from both of them. 

“I got caught in a storm a month back or so; spent three days as house-guest to a family of foxes up near the pass.”

“You didn’t tell me that.” He frowned. 

“By the time I could write I was safe and warm. No point worrying you.”

“Still,” he shook his head and tore a small piece of bread to give to a particularly round vole that had waddled over to him. The vole sniffed it, clutching at Numair’s fingers, before snatching the morsel and skittering back to his friends. Numair shivered and Daine shooed the rest of the voles away with one final offering. 

“Here, take this.” She unfurled one of her blankets and passed it to him. He shook his head, but she insisted, “I’m getting too warm anyway. Take it.” 

He accepted, settling it around himself. It was still warm and immediately waylaid the worst of his shaking. They ate in a contented silence. Numair ate quickly, thankful for the generous servings Marta had provided, and watched the voles pile on top of one another for what looked like a very satisfying nap. 

With the worst of his hunger pains subsided, he turned to ask her about her day and fumbled with his spoon, dropping an onion into the bowl with a soft splash. He wiped up the mess and tried not to look at her. How her hair tumbled from its pinning, or how the robe had finally slid from one shoulder and threatened to take the shift with it, or how without the blanket one leg was exposed up to where the shift bunched around her thigh. How the firelight flickered over her skin. How she was close enough that he could reach out—

He swallowed, realizing that despite his best efforts he was staring. When he looked up she was returning his gaze with an unfamiliar expression. Unfamiliar with her, at least. With another woman, in another place, another time he would have known it. It was knowing, and intent. On another woman it would be the final step in an invitation. On her, though, it was a mystery. It had to be. 

He felt himself blush and looked away, taking a deep drink from his mead. It was still warm, for which he was thankful. He thought he heard her sigh but his mind was clearly intent on playing tricks on him. 

“Did you get some rest?” He asked when he felt he could speak without betraying himself. 

She grunted in agreement, “probably too much.” She shifted, drawing her leg back under a remaining blanket. “I lost some time—I’ll need to catch up.”

“You’re not going back out?” He glanced at the shutters, which were rattling loudly against the wind whistling outside. 

“No,” she shook her head, “we’ll be lucky to get out tomorrow. The day after, perhaps.”

He sighed, leaning back to support himself on his arms. “I’ll admit, I was hoping to be further along.”

“You and me both, but things,” she waved, vaguely, “move slowly here. It’s hard to explain.” 

“Slowly until they don’t.” Sieges had a habit of sweeping in just as swiftly as squalls, and they both knew it. 

“The people are all hunkered in to weather the storm. If the Scanrans aren’t, well, that would actually work in our favor. Not even the toughest northerner can withstand more than the people here.” 

“And so we get to pause; just for a moment.” 

“I’ve missed you.” She caught him by surprise and he looked at her. Despite their reunion, it had felt like ships passing in the night the last couple days. The storm was a gift, perhaps. What they lose in time to work, they could gain in one another. The calm before the storm. Or the eye, perhaps. It was always so hard to tell how far in you are while you’re in it. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure if the danger lay more in the impending war, or what he felt alone in this room with her. 

“I missed you too.” Sometimes it was best to just let the storm pass; weather what you could and let the rest fall away. 

The hour grew late quickly and the rattling of the shutters against onslaught outside remained steady. He passed on what news he had of their friends back home—Their Majesties efforts to balance the morale of the capitol while preparing for a conflict they had worked so long to avoid, Lindhall taking over Numair’s classes (and his concern that the pages liked him better), and his own work that was mostly waylaid at this point. Daine had her own news—Maura was doing well and overjoyed to have Tkaa wintering in Dunlath. Brokefang was doing well; he and Cloud were both proof that Daine’s influence increased more than intelligence. They didn’t dwell on it. Kaddar was quite taken with Kalasin, now that they had grown on one another anyway. He rolled his eyes when she mentioned the Emperor and she ignored it. 

Daine had produced a deck of cards shortly after the candle clock had burned out. They let it, content with the firelight. She rummaged through her things as Numair pretended not to watch her or the way her form appeared and disappeared beneath the red silk as she moved—like a desert mirage to a man dying of thirst. She didn’t crawl back under the covers, folding her legs under her instead. She hadn’t been modest around him in a long time; too many shape-changes and too little patience on her part allowing for such formalities. He usually chided her, passed her a cloak or turned his back. In the glow of the fire, tucked away in that small, far corner of the realm, though, he said nothing and dealt them each a hand. 

When he excused himself for a privy break he found a tray of butter tea waiting for them just outside the door, steam still rising from the mugs. A reminder that while their hosts were discreet, they were also watchful. She thanked him when he handed her a mug and he sat on the sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him. His was plain, while hers clearly had spices added. Knowledgeable as well as watchful. Innkeepers were some of George’s favorite little birds. 

“I will say,” she swallowed and licked her lips, “they know their cozy comforts here.”

“I’ve never had this before. Did you have it in Snowsdale?” 

“No,” she looked back at him, craning her neck and curls glowing from the fire behind her. “We had glogg. It’s a sort of mulled wine with spices, and sometimes raisins and almonds—if we could get them. Ma said it would be a bad influence on me, but Gran-da said she was projecting and let me share his on special occasions.” 

He laughed, “in Tyra they have sangria. It’s served cold, but it’s wine with fresh fruits and sugar. Mattan got so drunk off of it at Carnival he woke up the following morning on a gondola.”

“If you had said anyone but Mattan I’m not sure I would have believed you.”

“Ah, yes. The most troublesome of the Draper’s.” He conceded when she shot him an incredulous look. “Different types of trouble, I suppose. Besides, I’m not a Draper anymore.”

“And your mother will never let you hear the end of it.” 

“Don’t remind me.” He was forced to raise his arm when she crawled up to the couch, and settled in next to him. He wondered if she could feel his heart beating when she rested against his chest. He had to clear his throat when he tried to speak. “She’s been asking for me to visit. I’m not sure when i’ll be able to now.”

“When we can, we should go for Carnival. You’ve always wanted to go, right?”

“We?” He looked down at her when she didn’t reply right away. For the first time in a long time she looked unsure. 

“Oh, if you _wanted_ company of course,” she bit her lip and took a sip of her tea.

He tightened his grip on her shoulder, “from _you_ , always. Although Carnival might be a bad influence—”

“Always so worried about bad influences and me.” She turned to look up at him, chin tilted and brows knitted. From this position it would be so easy to lean down and—he looked away with a strangled laugh.

“Has it occurred to you that I might be worried about bad influences for _myself_?”

“Please,” it was her turn to laugh. “You’re so unflappable.” 

“There’s no need to mock me.”

“I’m _not_ ,” she stifled a yawn and he shook his head, raising his arm and nudging her to sit up. 

“Time for bed, I think. Let’s not lose any of the rest you caught up on.” 

She sighed but stood, stretching her arms out behind her. “I suppose you’re right.” She picked up the blankets from the floor while he cleaned up their dishes and left them outside their door. She was arranging the bed while he washed up, but when he turned around she was rolling up one of her shirts to shove under the shutters. 

“Here,” he moved to help her, pushing the shutters upward while she shoved the fabric underneath the gap. They were both shivering by the time they were done, but the shutters rattling had mostly ceased. 

“Thanks,” she turned to him, wrapping her arms around herself against the cold. He was about to turn away when she spoke again, “for the robe, too.” Her voice was low. 

He swallowed, “you’re welcome. I told you, you should have nice things.” He was blocking the dwindling light from the hearth, and the shadows crept around them. He reached out, running a finger along the silk at her collarbone. He felt the goosebumps that rose up on her skin against his knuckles. She must be cold. “It looks good on you.” 

Blue looked good on her but red was...dangerous. He shouldn’t have bought it and now he was thinking of other mistakes he wanted to make. 

She stepped closer. The rattling had stopped, the firelight faded, and everything else followed—falling away.. It didn’t matter if they were on a hillside with leaves crunching beneath their feet, or a stable with the wind whipping them, or in a dark corner draped in silk. These moments seemed to creep up; strip everything else away. Everything besides her and an opportunity. A gift. A mistake. A promise. A ruin. He knew this moment, but not what to call it. The tilt of her chin. The scant distance between them. The pull in his belly. But there it was—the thought that always followed. Was that moment for both of them, or was he in it alone? If he wasn’t, was that worse? Surely. 

He pushed a curl back behind her ear, and kissed her forehead. “Let’s get some sleep.” 

She smiled and looked down, letting her hand linger on his arm as she walked by him. He removed his shirt and breeches—deciding to land somewhere between the lines he’d already crossed and the ones he wanted to—and crawled into bed as she washed up. 

The cold pushed back against the dying fire with a vengeance and he thought to add another log to the fire but she beat him to it. He watched her, propped up on one elbow, as she tended to the hearth. Her hair was unpinned and the red pooled on the ground behind her as she knelt. When she was done she hurried back to the bed, bare feet pattering against the floor. He should have thought to turn away as she shed the robe, but she did it quickly and didn’t seem to mind the audience. 

She shivered under the blankets and he pulled them up over both of their shoulders, reaching out for her before he could think better of it.

“Turn around,” he murmured. There was surprise—just a flash—in her expression but she complied. He wrapped his arms around her and she allowed him to pull her close so that their bodies pressed together. “To keep warm,” he added. A pitiful afterthought. 

She murmured a response he didn’t catch. Her curls smelled like sandalwood which he thought was odd, until he realized it was from his soap. He wasn’t sure if it was coming from him, or if she had used it. Wasn’t sure where one of them began and the other ended. Wasn’t sure he wanted to again. He pulled her closer, pressing his face into her curls and she sighed, covering his hands with her own. 

Sleep pulled at him surprisingly fast. The boon of a long, taxing day. She shifted, turning her head back towards him and rubbing her cheek against his nose. 

“Stop that, it’s distracting,” he murmured. His heart wasn’t in it. 

“From what?” Her voice was thick with sleep but she stopped.

“Everything.” 


End file.
